


Lonely Night

by badly_knitted



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Cold, Community: fic_promptly, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Loneliness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 08:04:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5156354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badly_knitted/pseuds/badly_knitted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto is feeling cold and alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lonely Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kimimaro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimimaro/gifts).



> Written for falkner’s prompt ‘any, any, alone on a cold night,’ at fic_promptly.

It’s not the coldest night of the year but it’s more than cold enough for Ianto. There’s snow on the ground, frost on the windows, and even with the heating on, he doesn’t feel warm. He can’t remember the last time he had to wear pyjamas and socks in bed, but even clothed his feet are like blocks of ice.

His small flat suddenly seems far too big for one man and he pulls the covers over his head, hiding from the emptiness and feeling lonelier than he has any right to. It’s ridiculous, and he knows it, but he’s grown used to company, and to sharing his bed with another, always warm body. Being alone feels unnatural and makes the cold weather seem to encroach on his centrally heated sanctuary. 

The night stretches out before him interminably. He should be sleeping, but there are lumps in his mattress he never noticed before, and the central heating pipes are making weird noises now that there isn’t someone else’s breathing beside him to drown them out.

Ianto turns over yet again, trying to get comfortable, and wonders if Jack is asleep in his far off hotel room, or if he too is lying wakeful and cold, wishing he was tucked up warm and cosy in a small, spartan Cardiff flat.

When his phone rings, strident in the darkness, he reaches out blindly with one arm into the cool air of his bedroom, fumbling around on the nightstand until his scrabbling fingers make contact with it, then pulling it under the covers with him. He doesn’t bother to check caller id; only a handful of people have this number anyway.

“Hello?”

He smiles as he hears the voice on the other end and suddenly he feels just a little bit warmer.

“Hi, Jack. Yeah, miss you too, the bed’s cold and I can’t warm my feet on you.”

The laughter on the other end is familiar and comfortable, and Ianto wishes it was coming from right beside him instead of hundreds of miles away. But it’s okay; Jack will be home by tomorrow night, heating the cold bed like a living hot water bottle. One night apart is survivable. Relaxing at last, Ianto falls asleep listening to Jack’s voice on the phone, and in a London hotel room, Jack whispers “Sweet dreams” before hanging up and drifting off to sleep himself to dream of home.

The End


End file.
